


i love you for the way you look when you lie to me

by jaguarbird



Series: you bring out the worst in me [2]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bloodplay, CMNF, Canon Related, Character Study, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Hallucinations, Knifeplay, Mental Coercion, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Physical Abuse, Power Dynamics, Sleep Paralysis, Smut, Spoilers, Stockholm Syndrome, Surrealism, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaguarbird/pseuds/jaguarbird
Summary: An episodic collection on the lives of Higgs Monaghan and Morana Struna. Concepts were drawn from song lyric inspiration and the stories focus on dark themes. Please heed the tags.
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: you bring out the worst in me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570156
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	1. all the times i stayed and wonder why, are to blame

**Author's Note:**

> Again, these are heavy topics. If this isn't your thing, that's okay! Just be mindful of the tags as well as chapter summaries.
> 
> If you haven't read the first part in this series, I highly recommend you do so. While these stories are nearly stand-alone, it will make more sense as to the mental degradation Morana experiences while being with Higgs.
> 
> Smut chapters are indicated with an (E) at the end of the title.
> 
> Updates for this fic will come eventually. You all get it. You can yell at me [here](https://jaguarbird.tumblr.com/) in the meantime.
> 
> Fic title song: [Blood by In This Moment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulgE1v1eyRk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An abbreviated 5+1: 3 times Morana stayed with Higgs, and 1 time she left him.
> 
> Chapter title song: [Cold Blooded by The Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfDHHoCzRYw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Mild warning and spoiler:**  
>  There is one scene of physical abuse in this chapter with Higgs hitting Morana. However, there are relatively graphic depictions of violence throughout it. Please be advised.

### I.

The terrifying part about being with Higgs is that she _knows_ what he's like.

Morana has heard more than her fair share of stories about the Homo Demens and the craters they left in their wake. The landscape is stamped by their mark, handprints of ink and decay. With Higgs at the forefront and the power he wields over the Beach, they are just as much of a force of nature as a timefall supercell.

The egotistical maniac that he is, he’s not shy about these _accomplishments_ either. He owns up to all the destruction he’s wrought across the continent. God forbid something in his plans go wrong.

One day, he complains about the chiral network, how he still has to work around it in order to visit her. Morana understands it is a troublesome thing, having to drop the connection without garnering concern from the UCA. But in truth, she would still be struggling to complete some of her studies without the archives that came along with it.

“If it weren’t for that Bridges porter, I wouldn’t be able to give you this,” she counters while waving around a hard drive full of research results. Higgs snarls at the mention of Bridges, body visibly bristling with agitation as he starts to pace around the bunker. 

“ _Sam_.” He hisses and bites through the singular syllable, like he wants to chew him up and spit him out. Morana remains quiet at her desk, knowing anything else she wants to say about the porter would irritate him further.

“I almost had him back at South Knot City. His little _device_ wasn't coded well enough, kept spreading chiralium around the more he extended the network. Wasn't hard to find him, but he was toting around a woman. So I sent a Catcher after him, thinking he'd be sluggish with the live cargo." He stopped his pacing in front of her and gave her a side-long glance. "Apparently, I was _wrong_."

It's obvious he despises such a concept, vehemently pronouncing the word in his typical drawl. And with how much contempt he harbors for Sam, she can only assume this isn't the first time his prey has escaped. His feet carry him around the space again, hands now gesturing frantically as his ramblings continue.

"I hope he makes it to Edge Knot. He has no idea what I have in store for him. Something so monstrous and so _personal_ , he can't help but play along like the good boy scout he is. I just need to get him to the Beach, where his _special genes_ won't matter. There's no second chance on the Beach, oh no. Straight to the fucking afterlife. Watch his life wash out of his eyes along with the tide."

Morana doesn't know how to handle this. He usually never verbalizes his insane ideas to her, but something about Sam really gets under his skin. She still hasn't said a word during all of this, so he seeks to change that, turning his focus on her with a cold stare.

"What do you think, sweetheart? How should I go about killing Sam Bridges?" He stalks towards her desk, a flicker of a manic smile crossing his unmasked features. "A gun, perhaps? Fill him full of holes until he's unrecognizable. Or maybe a knife? Gouge out his insides until he looks like a whale carcass. There's always a good, ol' fashioned fist fight, pummel him into the ground before I crush his windpipe in my hands."

She grimaces but tries to hide the expression with a shrug. There isn't much of a choice, nor does she want to make a choice for him. This was never part of their partnership, discussing violence toward others like the weather. Morana is not a violent person. She's not Higgs.

But, she is _with_ Higgs. _Still_ with him.

And staying with him is better than being against him.

### II.

Morana has a habit of leaving music or the TV on while working. Mindless background noise, something to fill the empty space with a voice that wasn't her own. Higgs is the only other sound that will occasionally accompany hers. He usually takes up all the space and then some; but whenever he's here, she can't concentrate well enough. For obvious reasons.

She's at her desk entering in an obnoxious amount of statistical data, eyes tunnel-visioned on the screen while lithe fingers fly with ease over the chiralgram keyboard. The drone of some movie she's watched a thousand and one times barely registers in her ears, although her eyes flick over toward her projected screen on the far wall every so often.

It's in the middle of this banal tedium that her routine is broken.

The chiral connection stutters and spurts before cutting out for all of five seconds. Then power surges and her projection flashes back on.

Instead of her movie, it's some grainy live feed of a man strapped down to a chair. He's struggling against his bonds, muffling pleas into the synthetic strand shoved between his teeth. He looks like he's been through the ringer already; black undershirt stained with sweat and blood, ripping in some spots, bruises and cuts littering his mottled skin. The setting is nondescript, just an off-camera spotlight overhead in a dark room.

"It appears that I have acquired a wolf among my flock."

 _Higgs_.

The terrorist appears just behind the captive man, causing him to jolt and tug at the cords. He's in his full outfit, black hood and gold mask and geared to the teeth with armor and weapons. Fear drains all the color from the man's face, tear stains on his cheeks glistening in the harsh light. Higgs places a hand at the man's shoulder, fingers digging in roughly and making him wince and buckle.

"This… _traitorous scum_ has taken to aiding preppers by returning their cargo stolen from MULEs. Chivalrous, yes. Daring, absolutely. A good idea?" Higgs leans down, tone dropping a few octaves and ominous through the masks. " _No_."

The man starts to sob again, broken and defeated, aware of his fate at the hands of this monster.

"The Homo Demens follow one singular rule, or rather... an ideology. Extinction. Nowhere in that states helping the helpless. Little Thomas Jepson here thinks otherwise, _opposes_ our ideology." A familiar heavy sound reverberates and the signature curved knife manifests in Higgs' free hand. The chiralium edge glints with deadly promise in the overhead light. "He also knows what we do to the _unfaithful_."

It happens so quickly that it takes Morana a moment to process everything. That sharp blade cuts cleanly through poor Thomas' neck, driven deep enough to gouge the jugular. He stutters and jostles and convulses, chokes on the blood filling his gagged mouth, as a waterfall of vibrant red pours down his front.

Higgs is a creature of slaughter and ruin -- voidouts happen regularly because of him. But a live feed of an execution through a hacked chiral network? It's barbaric even for his standards.

A concept Morana doesn't want to dwell on.

"Don't worry," he says nonchalantly, "the party doesn't end here."

That golden mask is removed, static and chiral particles flicking to life before he slams it against the dying man's face. It's like a lightning bolt reignited his failing organs and overwhelmed his nerves. Then from the half-mask spreads a viscous, black tar, moving rapidly over his face, neck, shoulders. The mass undulates unnaturally as it consumes him, until another gold mask forms beneath it.

Necrosis.

Somehow, Higgs figured out how to speed up the two-day process and immediately made a BT out of a martyr. A ghostly, gooey apparition takes shape and floats above the body. Thomas is now forcibly loyal to Higgs, forever connected by the Beach.

Morana finally decides to turn off the projection, slumps over her desk with her head in her hands. She wills her stomach to stop churning after a few dry heaves.

 _At least it wasn't you_ , says the little voice in her head.

She wishes it was.

### III.

Of course Higgs had asked her about his performance, the fucking narcissist that he is. She had rolled the answer around between teeth and tongue for a few moments, the feel of it weighing too heavy for her to expel in a breath.

"It's just…" She had struggled to find the right words. "It's just not something I would anticipate from you." Is being _too much_ possible for a person who is all about being too much?

Apparently that didn't sit right with him. Morana had briefly considered that he saw merit in her opinion, then instantly remembered who this man was. Higgs had left her alone for a while afterwards, letting the guilt twist and coil itself around her veins, rooting into her brain and making her terrified.

It worked, unfortunately.

But the next time she sees him, he comes with gear. A standard suit for those brave enough to leave their homes. Timefall-resistant synthetic fibers dyed black, as if any other color would suit him.

"What's this for? Your suit is fine enough."

He stares at her hard, raises a tattooed brow. "You really think I'd fit in something this small?"

Unfurling it reveals it's exactly her height. Something should bother about that, that he knows her physical stature so well. But it doesn't.

"Get changed." Higgs hurls the heavy garment at her, she catches it but just barely. She would ask _why_ but she knows better. She never wants to know why.

It's a bulky, unflattering thing, without much shape past a rectangle. Even with a set of underclothes and the inner lining, it's still relatively uncomfortable. But the suit isn't designed for that, just basic functionality.

Once she's dressed, Higgs unceremoniously hoists her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing, hand patting her ass twice. "Hold on."

The world shifts in the most unpleasant way. She squeezes her eyes shut, fingers white-knuckling his cloak, breath held tight in her chest. The air is sucked away in a vacuum only to be replenished a moment later. Her head pounds with a pressure that isn't there. She's dizzy while staying still. Beach travel is rough for the inexperienced and that's putting it mildly.

He doesn't set her down carefully so she stumbles like a newborn fawn until the world rights itself. It's then she takes in her surroundings. They're standing above the landscape, on the gentle slope of a mountainside she surmises. Forests stretch far and wide along rolling hills down below, the occasional pond dotting the green with navy. Not too far away, at the center of this scenery, is North Knot City. Along the periphery sit a waystation, distro center, and some preppers. Stoic gray blocks emerge between verdant terrain.

"Peaceful, isn't it." Higgs breaks the silence, disdain filtering into his tone.

"It is," Morana frowns, brows knitting together as she tries to piece together his plan.

"Time to fix it." It's all the warning he gives her before he jumps away, appearing at a hilltop near the city center. Across the surrounding hilltops emerge figures dressed in black armored uniforms, stalking skillfully through the vegetation.

They infiltrate the city, snatch what few they can, screams echoing like banshees across the hills, signaling the coming death of many. A smaller sect invade the peripheral buildings and snag more people from their homes and businesses. All those captured are brought to the same hilltop as Higgs. The basin the city resides in is shaped not unlike an amphitheatre and allows his voice to project clearly over the distance.

"You all thought I would just punish your dear ol' _Saint Thomas_ , didn't you. That his death was the price to pay for your sins." He laughs, a menacing sound, and should she be closer, she knows that smile wouldn't reach his eyes. "Oh, no. No, no, you all still need to be atoned. Purged. You believed in the wrong man. _I_ am the particle of God, and this is _my_ will."

Higgs makes a show of ripping the gold mask off, tossing it once between hands only to throw it off to the base of the hill. A crackling lightning shudders through the basin all the way up to the slope Morana stands on.

The sky opens on command for a deluge of timefall. Instantly the sensors in her suit kick on, her hood lifting automatically to shield her face. Those captured have some protective gear, though most have their faces and arms exposed. Inky tar begins to fill up the forests, lifting all sorts of older buildings and machinery from its depths. Decrepit relics of decades past.

A horrendous roar like thunder shakes her to the core. Erupting from the roiling dark ichor is a monstrosity that towers well above the hill. Serpentine, a veritable _basilisk_ , with spiked scales and horns jutting out from its golden skull. The jaws unhinge, hissing violently, and show three sets of fangs framing a spiny gullet. Its head sways languidly, body following, sizing up the prey laid out like helpless offerings, these sacrifices to an old deity.

The Catcher swiftly rears up before diving straight down at the captives.

Morana feels her heart pounding right out of her chest and clamps a hand over her mouth. Experiencing a voidout, even at a distance, is beyond comparison. A burst of blinding light that stretches past the horizon only to get sucked back into a black hole, spacetime warping around the edges in the most unsettling way. She can feel the gravitational pull tugging at every fiber of her being, begging her to fall in like the rest. The resounding boom vibrates down to her core, makes her insides feel rearranged, replaced. 

All that remains of North Knot City is a tremendous, clawed handprint, steaming tar pooling in the vast depressions.

Higgs had appeared beside her just before the clash of antimatter and matter but she only noticed him when he spoke, condescending and so full of himself. "Did you anticipate _this_?"

She turns away from him and vomits onto the rocky surface, thinks she sees tar for a moment. He's unsympathetic but he waits till she's done before jumping them back to her bunker. She changes out of the suit and immediately crawls into bed.

Just as he finishes folding up the suit, tucking it under his arm, she speaks, voice raw.

"I'm sorry for doubting you."

A noncommittal hum is the only thing she hears before he's gone.

### i.

Somewhere in the abyss of her brain, something crawls out with a shred of reality, of sanity, digs its nasty talons into the gray matter in her skull, screeches the consequences of her actions at her until her ears ring.

Morana hasn't been able to sleep well since the voidout. Nightmares of jagged spines and deadly fangs, of heavenly light and hellish decay. And the only thing she can even begin to grasp is the simple question: _why_.

She hates that word, almost as much as she hates herself. With it comes doubt, reconsideration, hindsight, reflection. At the mere thought of it, anxiety shoots through her veins like the worst drug.

But she has to ask it, sooner than later. She has to ready the shovel to dig her own grave.

A couple weeks pass before Higgs comes to her again. It's midday, but that means nothing to her inside this self-made cell. Her pale skin appears ghastly, dark circles curl under her bloodshot eyes, cheekbones and clavicles appears more prominent.

He doesn't even care about her state of distress, just crowds into her space, mouth moving up the side of her neck. She stops him with a hand and makes a weak attempt at loosening his grasp. Before he can object, that flat palm changes to a lifted forefinger and she finally looks up to him.

"Why do you do this?" Morana croaks, water filling the corners of her eyes. "Why do you wreak such havoc on this broken earth?"

He's quiet, jaw tense, and he takes a step back. She continues.

"You speak of a world heading for total annihilation, a mass extinction beyond anything else witnessed in this planet's short life. Yet you decide that destruction and death should happen sooner than the inevitable doom already set in motion. Why kill so many now when the end will do it for you?"

He has never had his methods questioned. He doesn't like it. It shows with the subtle shifts in emotions dashing across his face: worry, insecurity, denial, anger, _rage_.

The final emotion expresses itself in a loud slap across her face.

The sting radiates instantly, nerves alight with a deep ache. He struck just below her left eye so hard, imprints from the gloves carve new lines into soft flesh. The neon red blooming in the wake is the most lively her skin has looked in a while.

Looming over her hunched form, he watches her intently, breathing through gritted teeth, hands curled into fists at his sides, muscles shaking with tension. He looks like he's ready to unleash a verbal tirade upon her -- his mouth the gun, his words the bullets.

Yet he vanishes before he can hear her wailing cry as it rips up from her lungs, burns over her throat, rattles the teeth in her gums.

Hours later, Morana leaves the bunker.

While she doesn't have a proper suit, she makes due with layering enough clothes to protect her from the elements. It's a short journey through the snow, but there is always a possibility for a minefield of BTs.

The _clang_ of the hydraulic door slices into the silence of the snowy mountain. Instantly, a rush of cold air fills the bunker, biting into the salt left on her cheeks. She takes a deep breath, looks over her shoulder to the mess she left behind (the mess she created) and passes the threshold to the outside world. The perimeter scanner pings and calls out her identification. At least the UCA will have a last log for her should anything happen.

 _This is crazy_ , Morana thinks as she begins her cautious trek downhill, hiking boots crunching through pristine snow. The sound is painful to listen to, so jarring and unnatural in this environment. It ruins the serenity, the balance. Feels like she's killing herself with each step.

And she probably is. She is aware of the fate written into the marrow of her bones, the essence of her soul. She is death, and death is her.

Halfway down the mountainside, green begins to encompass her vision. It's welcoming, but only on the surface. Clouds have been gathering overhead, swirling threateningly, almost moving in time with her. Even if there's no timefall, multiple groupings of MULEs still linger among the woods. Just because she has no cargo doesn't mean she isn't a package herself. She prays to whatever divine being left in this forsaken universe to give her clear passage through the valley. 

Adrenaline pumps through her system the minute her feet hit dirt and grass, coursing through her legs to send her running down the remaining slope. She's been going off instinct the entire time, has absolutely no plan outside of _leave_ , knows how utterly insane this idea is.

But she has to do it, she has to get a grasp of herself again. She's been set adrift for so long without a life raft, pushed out to open waters so dark no light seems to penetrate it, felt the vile demons swipe along her dangling legs ready to drag her down. She's done all this wrong to herself, so she might as well try to do something right one last time.

Morana isn't even paying attention to anything outside of escaping, so she doesn't notice the rock until it's too late. She tumbles front-first onto the ground, takes the brunt on her knees, her palms, her chest, her chin. The wind is knocked clean out of her, frigid lungs constricting tight, making her cough and wheeze. A few seconds pass as she kneads the aches out of her body and finds air again. She goes to stand up, ready to run again, but pauses when she finally takes in the sight of timefall.

It's all around her, a steady downpour, but it's… not touching her. Tentatively, she extends a hand out towards the invisible barrier until drops land on the back of her gloves. It starts to eat into the unprotected material and she snatches the hand back to her chest.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

 _Fuck_.

Higgs, the shadow forever hanging on her periphery. He's unbothered by the timefall, only the hood to shield his unmasked face, as he walks leisurely towards her. He stands just outside her little safety bubble, a smirk upticking the corner of his mouth.

"Now _this_ is something I wouldn't anticipate from you." Her own words come to gnaw and chomp at her again. He knows just how to twist everything she says to turn it right back to her. "After all I have done for you, spent all this time and energy for you. You flee at the edge of dusk, no protection, no supplies, not even a fucking plan. You leave me. _Alone_."

Anger grips that last word, wields it like a weapon. It almost hurts as much as the smack he delivered. She flinches, shrinks in on herself, makes herself smaller under the scrutiny of this towering man. No, not a man; he hasn't been human for a long time.

He sighs heavily, cocks his head to the side and shrugs his shoulders. Pretends to be disappointed and not undeniably livid. "I could leave you, too, ya know. Out here. Trapped forever by timefall. Hunted by BTs."

It earns him the reaction he hopes for, lives for: _fear_. 

"No, no! Please!" Morana shakes her head quickly, eyes wide, hands held up in submission. "I can't- I'll-"

 _Die_. It's unspoken but they both know. She knew from the start. So why is she fighting it?

"I'll stay," she says instead, her voice not her own. The metaphorical shovel strikes the earth, rips apart roots, clears layers of sediment and dirt. Here she lies.

Higgs adopts a passive face, almost believably pleasant, and steps into her circle, pressing his hands to the sides of her neck. His touch thrums with violence and she visibly stiffens. He then kisses the darkened spot under her eye, a coating of splotchy red and purple watercolors on her cheekbone. She inhales sharply; it burns through her cold skin and sears a mark into her soul.

“I know I lashed out,” he says quietly, unapologetically, “but you shouldn’t have questioned me. I know what my purpose is. You, however, have seemed to have lost yours. I’ll help you find it again.”

He removes one hand and his mask flashes into the palm. He grins; it reaches his eyes and it's _terrifying_. Slowly, he slips the mask over her face, holds it in place by forefinger and thumb. "I'll help you remember who the real monster is."


	2. 'cause i can feel how your flesh now is crying out for more (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Higgs is, among many other things, a predator.
> 
> He's intelligent, observant, cunning. He's strong, fast, deadly.
> 
> And there's a nasty little creature that's made a home inside Morana's mind that absolutely _craves_ such ferocity and control.
> 
> Chapter title song: [The Wolf by SIAMÉS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYRn7ACI_To)

Higgs is, among many other things, a predator.

He's intelligent, observant, cunning. He's strong, fast, deadly.

And there's a nasty little creature that's made a home inside Morana's mind that absolutely _craves_ such ferocity and control.

Each visit makes it harder for her to control this deviant thing. And it's not even because of the sex, it's just _him_. He exudes this unworldly power that prevails beyond his narcissism, like it's his divine right to be so confident in his skin, to manipulate things unthinkable by mortal kind, to be the will of the universe. A flesh-bound black hole, vast and all-encompassing, where nothing can ever escape.

She knows, she's tried. And failed.

He knows he's ensnared her in this unbreakable vortex, set her on a course for the destined event horizon. She's just making the most of her time on this journey before she's gone completely. What else does she have left to lose; dignity, sanity, hope? She forfeit those the moment she made her deal with Higgs a year and a half ago.

A year and a half. It feels longer than that, shorter than that -- her own purgatory where time means nothing except when it's spent with him. And the more time Morana has, the more he can shape her into anything he could want.

Oh, but he wants _so_ much from her. Takes a piece, a slice, a bite from every moment together. Wrends another chunk out of her soul, gnaws on it for a while, takes his time to savor the taste of her gradual submission. Sometimes he swallows it without remorse. Other times he spits it back out, shoves the wrong jigsaw back into the puzzle, and forces it to fit. Either way, she has become less and less of herself and she let him do it.

So maybe that's why the nasty creature makes its presence known whenever she remotely thinks about Higgs, let alone sees him or touches him. This doppelganger, wrought from the gnarled fragments of her identity, that haunts her night and day; this demon that sits on her chest, her heart, and suffocates her.

He is efficient and skillful in his craft, luring her into carefully placed traps with half truths and full lies coated in a honeyed voice.

Morana falls for it every time. She listens. She _obeys_.

And it's strange how Higgs just _knows_ when the craving has grown to unbearable levels. When it's no longer a physical ache but mental, emotional, like her soul lets out this longing howl that echoes and amplifies in her nook of the mountains. It's how she's been feeling for a couple weeks now, hates how she hasn't stopped thinking about _him_ and the slow, tactful corruption he brings. This black tar that twists and constricts and binds her to him irrevocably.

He's on her mind again today during her early morning shower, which is possibly the worst time to think of him outside of sleep. Such a menial task has become one full of frustration -- it's not her hands she wants on her skin right now. This is all made worse when she skims the washcloth too close to her unwarranted arousal, a pathetic gasp jumping out of her throat as she stops herself from succumbing to the sensation. She learned a while ago not to touch herself when she's drowning in these emotions. It only feeds the ache more.

Addiction, thy name is…

"Do you know how _loud_ you think?"

Morana whips around to face him and scrambles to cover herself, right arm draping across her chest and left hand pressing the washcloth between her legs. A terrible idea since the clinging wet fabric offers just enough friction to make her eyelids flutter.

Higgs crowds around her until she's forced against the cold shower wall. She's still reeling from his sudden appearance, heart hammering out of her chest, the rush of adrenaline like spikes digging and carving through her veins. She never heard the chiral connection drop having been too far into her own head. 

He's filthy, fully geared and clothed with his hood drawn up, like he was just in the middle of something important, running amuck between here and the Beach. The water washes off streams of ink and black sand, leaving a hypnotic dark pattern against clinical white swirling down the drain.

"It's constant, _incessant_. And when you're like _this_ ," he pauses to quickly reach out and cover her hand holding the washcloth in place with his own. His fingers curl inward, causing hers to follow suit and igniting that throbbing heat deeply seated in her core. A weak, mewling sound escapes her lips though her voice is distant in her ears. She can't resist the forward twitch of her hips as he pushes his hand harder onto hers.

"Oh, _sweetheart_ ," his drawl is laced with malice, "when you're like this, I can't get anything done. I can barely hear myself think. Do you have any _fucking_ idea the trouble _you_ can cause if you don't let me do… my… work!" The last three words are punctuated with three equal strokes, rubbing the rough fabric directly against her clit. Morana feels her knees buckle and has to forgo any last bit of decency to brace her free hand against the wall. Her brain is so fogged over with pleasure she can't articulate any answer for him outside of a pitched moan, but she knows it wouldn't matter in the end.

"No, I don't think you do," Higgs answers for her, now simply holding his hand still while his off-hand digs bruises into her hip, stops her from grinding out her pleasure. "But I'll make you understand."

He disappears and she collapses without his support, dropping the washcloth to the floor. The shower stops a moment after, but the ache remains.

\---

Morana hates that Higgs _always_ makes good on his promises. It's what got her into this mess of a partnership. 

(She deigns to define themselves as 'in a relationship' because their connection is far from something so… normal and benign.)

She wakes in the middle of the night, dark curls clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, irritated and out of breath. The sheets have all been pushed away, partially dangling to the floor, and she's rid herself of her poor excuse for pajamas. Initially, she thinks -- hopes -- this is some nasty virus overworking her immune system and she's ready to send out an urgent request for medicine. But the fever doesn't flare from her head, not even her chest, instead it resides low in her hips.

She wants to cry. She wants to beg. She wants to _scream_.

Higgs hears her call before it ever had a chance to leave her lips.

Lying prone on the mattress, tensed up and exhausted, she doesn't move an inch when he appears inside the bunker. He leisurely removes his gear, dragging seconds into hours, until he's hovering over her at the side of the bed. His hood casts a large shadow over his face, only leaving a devilish leer to haunt her.

"Oh, my. What a _mess_ you've become, Morana." He laughs low in his chest, delighted by her suffering. But he's right, she can feel just how _needy_ she's become. Wetness has gathered generously between her thighs, an arousal made from nothing but intangible thoughts. The only sense of relief she felt was during the shower incident earlier this week.

Her legs shift and squeeze tighter together, trying to hide her desperation from him. It only serves to drive a quiet cry out of her and force her to reluctantly unclench a bit. He tuts at her with a shake of his head, then extends a hand down to the juncture of her legs. Two gloved fingers bully their way between heated flesh, curling just enough to pull another whimper from her before withdrawing. The digits glisten in the faint blue-ish glow of the bunker.

Shame makes a home on her cheeks, nose, collarbone, flushing rose against alabaster. And yet she can't look away from him as he rubs his thumb to index and middle fingers, pulls them apart, creates a silver string between the pads. That nasty part of her mind, the one driven insane by Higgs' predatory nature, pleads and thrashes and yells for his attention, to fucking _do_ something about this wretched ache.

"What a mess, indeed," he says mostly to himself as he wipes the digits clean against the mattress. Outwardly he looks unaffected by her mental tantrum, this statuesque facade full of nonchalance and composure. However, Morana now knows just how much he really hears, how far into her head he's gone.

His hands latch onto her hips and tug her around until she's flush to his thighs, her legs hanging off the edge of the bed on either side of him. She goes to sit up, panic startling her nerves, but he stops her with a single finger to her sternum, wordlessly commanding her to stay down. She obeys, because that's all she's ever known.

Higgs makes a show of taking off his gloves one finger at a time for each hand, tossing them towards the nearby nightstand. Then slowly, he lowers himself until his face is level with her partially spread legs. He hasn't stopped looking at her the entire time, the occasional shift in the shadows allowing her a glimpse at the icy stare boring straight through her. She catches agitation, deceit, perception flashing in those irises; but most of all, she catches _hunger_.

For what else could she be to him, other than the sacrificial lamb willingly offering herself to the waiting maw of the deadly beast?

She cries out the instant his mouth is on her.

Her hands grip and twist the sheet, her knees pull up and apart, her toes curl and her back arches, and all he's done is drag the flat of his tongue up her slit from entrance to clit. Bare palms press firmly against her inner thighs, opens her up even more, and he repeats the motion again and again, so lax and deliberate in pace and placement. She doesn't hold back any of her noises, keening moans and pitiful whines abound.

A fire blazes in her belly, having never been tempered for what feels like an age, and she knows she won't last long like this.

He feels it too.

"Easy, sweetheart." Higgs leans back, sharp gaze flicking back up to meet hers, a taunting smile on his shining mouth. His hands shift so his thumbs gently pull her outer lips apart, forearms bracing against her thighs to keep them wide apart. She tries to buck into nothing, pinned by his strong hold, and he chuckles at her failure. "You're not gonna get off _that_ quick."

A promise. A threat.

Morana fusses and whimpers against him, the last little bit of her that still wants to rebel, to fight. It only makes him push onto her roughly, her knees nearly reaching the mattress and her dripping, quivering sex on full display for him.

Just as she's starting to calm down, focusing on the racing heartbeat pounding between her legs, he moves back in.

His tongue is no longer flat but pointed, piercing right between her folds and into her cunt. She struggles weakly, back arching hard enough to lift up from the bed, a broken sob catching in her throat. That wet muscle curls deliciously within her and finds a few sweet spots that make her gasp. All too soon her legs begin to shake and shudder as she gets closer to the edge once more.

She expels his name, wrapped in a pitched moan, like a prayer, a curse, a death wish.

He doesn't heed her call, just hangs her precariously above the precipice, so close yet so far.

" _Fuck_ you!" she wails at him, partially sitting up on a single elbow to glare down at him, hazel eyes wild with fury and desperation. Higgs lunges up at her so fast, she doesn't even know it until he's got a hand on her throat and slams her down to the bed. Whatever breath she had that would've hurled more obscenities at him rushes out of her lungs painfully.

The expression on his face, a dangerous blend of rage and carnality, both terrifies and excites her. And _oh_ , he sees it, smells it, hears it, in all the smallest nuances. Knows what the hunter in him does to the prey in her.

"If you're gonna keep acting up," he drawls, head tilting so the droop of his hood lifts enough for her to see both of his eyes, "I'll leave you here, _just like this_."

Her clit is suddenly clamped between his forefinger and thumb, teetering between pleasure and agony. It's not enough to shove her to completion but it's far from dampening the overwhelming heat in her core. Morana squirms under him with a strangled cry, voice struggling against the tight grip of his hand. He doesn't let up, reveling in her torment.

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" His smile is all teeth. "I know just what you want, but I also know you need to be taught a lesson." His fingers pinch just a little harder, then _twist_ , making her jolt and yelp, her eyes shut tight as her hands almost rip through the sheets.

And despite the stinging ache of her sensitive nerves, her hips still rise up to find some friction, some relief.

A subtle brush of his middle finger finds her arousal heightened and dripping freely. He scoffs out a laugh, "What a beautiful _fucking_ mess you are."

He releases her throat and clit simultaneously and steps away from her, her body in shock from the complete lack of any physical attention. She's not sure how to handle the sensation, having been overstimulated nearly to the point of breaking, though she admits most of it was by her own doing.

That's just it, isn't it -- her own doing. All of this is caused by her shameless addiction to Higgs, this animalistic need to be controlled by him. Devoured by him. Ruined by him.

And he gladly does so.

He kneels down again, spreads her open again, puts his mouth on her _again_. But he adds his fingers, middle and ring burying deep to the knuckle, rubbing and stroking at all the right places in tandem with his tongue flicking maddeningly over her clit. She's too exhausted to contest him, yet that doesn't stop her erratic writhing.

Every sound that he pulls from her creates the prettiest broken symphony he's ever heard. She sounds even better when he stops all his ministrations the moment she's about to come.

Higgs is _relentless_ with his torture.

He puts her through at least a dozen more failed orgasms. Denies her of any semblance of relief, just pours more gasoline over the fire.

Morana is nothing but a weeping, drenched wreck, muscles sore and trembling, hips involuntarily convulsing. Somewhere between the sixth and seventh failure, she lost her voice entirely. Even his warm breath ghosting over her sensitive, slick cunt is enough to make her keen.

But it's more than a simple exhalation that has driven her to the brink and back. Tongue and teeth and lips and fingers, these effective instruments in her dissection as he presses and pushes and pries into her. Excavates her very being like some precious artifact that he'll display in his private collection.

(Or, more appropriately, a taxidermied animal hung up on a wall like a fucking trophy.

 _At least he considers you worthy of being a prize_ , says the nasty little creature. It terrifies her how much she wants that.)

Suddenly, something breaks through the cloudy haze of jumbled thoughts and over-heightened stimulation: she's getting closer to her climax, daringly so, and he _hasn't_ stopped. Hasn't slowed down the pace or eased up on the pressure of his mouth and fingers. She stirs, gingerly lifting her head to look down to him, meets his gaze directly and sees the determination in his expression, the absolute _want_ to watch her fucking break.

"Higgs…" she whispers, she pleads. 

His eyes crinkle in the outer corners, she feels his smile against her.

He's not stopping.

Her heart starts to race, running on the smallest hope that he'll finally let her come. This is the farthest he's brought her to the edge and, _oh_ , it's so good to experience something beyond this unyielding, painful throb.

He's not stopping.

He bullies a third finger into her overworked walls, makes her feel deliciously full and stretched. His teeth bite her swollen clit, gets her to cry and quiver until he draws it between his lips and laves his tongue over it. Morana trembles and twitches, hips canting upward to meet him, press him harder against her.

 _Fuck_ , he's not stopping. 

"Higgs!" It hurts so much to speak, let alone wail. Vocal chords shot to hell, discordant and jarring. But it's the only warning she can give him, mere seconds from reaching ecstasy.

He abruptly pulls away from her and stands over her, leaving her devoid of any attention.

She would rather die than go through anymore of this suffering.

"I would just _love_ to keep you like this," he says, idly swiping his palm over his mouth and chin, "So pliant. So fucking desperate. Knowing that I'm the _only_ one who can make you feel like this." He lets his eyes roam along her body and take in the sight of her, this destruction he meticulously crafted, so prideful in his depravity.

Then he gathers up her limp body, manhandles her until she's flipped over onto her stomach with her chest and knees pressing into the mattress, ass lifted and presented eagerly for him. The bed dips as he positions himself behind her, followed by the telltale rustling of clothing. Her gut twists with anticipation. Something hot and blunt nudges up against her dripping sex, and she fights against the urge to lean back and slide him fully inside.

"But sweetheart…" Higgs lays across her back, cages her in completely, large hands splaying atop her petite ones, and gets his mouth to her ear. "I want to fucking _ruin_ you."

He thrusts forward, buries himself all the way to the base, a low groan resonating in his chest against her back. She's indescribably tight and _wet_ , so much so that she can feel her arousal leak out passed him, slickens her folds even more. Incrementally, he withdraws from her quivering walls, prompting a long, half-muffled moan from her, until he's almost out entirely, cockhead still partially within her.

Then he slams into her. Again. Withdraws slowly. Again. The sharp, rough buck and the leisurely pull back. Maintains this steady rhythm despite the pitched noises coming from her, despite how much she tries to shift her weight into him, only to be stopped by his strength. He drags minutes into eternity, sending her closer and closer to that desired edge. Fucks into her just like this, over and over _again_.

It doesn't take long for Morana to break.

He finally lets her orgasm crash her into oblivion.

The way she constricts around him is hard enough he has to sink his teeth into the crux of her neck and shove himself so roughly into her that he jams against her cervix. But at this point, the only thing her brain can register is the intensity of sensations rippling through her nerves. She's an absolute wreck beneath him, choking on sobs as she writhes and twitches and shudders.

She relinquishes control of her body to the overwhelming pleasure. Succumbs to his punishment, his poison. The tar swallows her whole like the sacrifice she is.

Distantly, she makes out the vibration of his voice against her back, the gruff sound belatedly reaching her ears between labored breaths. He hasn't stopped fucking her, only gained momentum to chase after his own pleasure.

"That's it, sweetheart. _Submit_. You asked for this, didn't you. Fucking _begged_ me to capture you, destroy you. _Corrupt_ you. You let me _in_." Higgs emphasizes with a piercing thrust that shocks and scrambles her synapses further. The heat between her legs never fully left, instead it's sparked once more, careening her faster towards another orgasm.

(At this rate, Morana will need a new mattress -- she can feel just how soaked through she's made this one. She knows it's about to get so much worse.)

" _Fuck_ , you take my cock so well. Like you were meant for this. A perfect little toy. _My_ little toy. _My_ good girl. _Mine_."

Her voice responds in a whimper, so frail, so defeated. "... _yours_."

He comes inside her immediately, fills her up to the brim and then some, leaking more fluids onto the sheets below. She comes soon after in a violent release. It feels like an implosion, sucking her down into the abyss, trapping her with a vice-like grip. Her own personal voidout. A giant handprint seared into her goddamn soul.

 _Marked as his_.

It's the last thought she has before exhaustion suddenly hits her and she blacks out.

\---

Morana rouses sometime in the late afternoon the following day, at least according to the chiralgram clock at her bedside. Every part of her body screams in anguish, muscles unable to cooperate, brain too fuzzy to function.

Higgs had made good on his promise. He absolutely ruined her. Mind, body, _and_ soul.

She wants to be worried, horrified even, that she spiralled deeper into this disaster of a relationship. Allowed him to burrow himself into the recesses of her brain. But she's not. She feels unnervingly content and complete.

And the nasty little creature inside her head is sated. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting the year off right - with Higgs smut. Happy 2020 from your friendly neighborhood trashling.
> 
> You can find me [here!](https://jaguarbird.tumblr.com/)


	3. my eyelids are the door, my mind is the coffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams were often precious things, but since the Death Stranding, they've been washed away with the tide, left to melt into the sand and tar. They're replaced with afterimages of what they once were. A mockery of shadow puppets, with strings pulled taut by unseen hands, movements jarring and unsettling.
> 
> Chapter title song: [Monster (Under My Bed) by Call Me Karizma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FJhEbhCYo8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the end of the game and includes spoilers.
> 
>   
> **Warning:**  
>  This chapter includes elements of surrealism, gore, nightmares, and sleep paralysis. If you find any of these subjects too disturbing, please don't read.

The last time Higgs came to visit Morana, he had told her of Sam's breakthrough past the tar belt, closing in on Edge Knot City to save Amelie. A strange aura surrounded him that night, one that walked the line between manic glee and barely contained fury. His practiced patience was starting to wear thin. She could tell in the way he gripped her too tightly, manipulated her limbs too harshly, fucked into her too roughly. He was practically brimming with chiral matter, so much ozone tingling across her skin she feared she'd spark and set the bed on fire.

Truly, she's rather surprised she's still alive.

He hadn't stayed that night, not that he ever does, but he did linger a short while afterwards. His words were cryptic. They would be echoing in her skull for days to come.

"Just because I'm gone doesn't mean that's the end of our agreement."

It hadn't made sense then, and now it's even more perplexing. Word quickly spread of Sam completing the chiral network and establishing the full connection of the UCA. With the network finalized from coast to coast, didn't that mean the end for Higgs' whole operation?

Would that mean the end for him, too?

It was a triumph that Morana didn't have the heart to celebrate.

It's been a couple weeks since then and she hasn't had any contact with him. Normally this wouldn't be too out of the ordinary, since he had limited visits when Sam originally connected her to the network. However, whatever the porter had done was so significant, it made Higgs' absence that much more poignant.

She sought out Heartman and managed to pry him on the full extent of the situation regarding Sam. Amelie's true nature as an Extinction Entity, Higgs' role in the elaborate setup, a veteran-turned-BT hell-bent on getting his child back. There was an overwhelming amount of information that he could only detail so much within his allotted twenty-one minutes.

But one piece of information hit her harder than anything else. After his fight with Sam, Higgs shot himself on the Beach.

Morana was reeling from the news, heart and head torn apart, reignited in their endless war. She should be happy he's gone, thrilled even, that she no longer has to suffer under his control. She's finally _free_.

And yet, despite it all, she's grown too attached to this monster in mortal disguise. So welcomed to his destruction and chaos. Finds comfort in his depravity. She can only feel shattered beyond repair.

Without him, her research is cut down by half, relying solely on the work Heartman sends to her. It's strange, really. Going on as if nothing ever happened, like the world wasn't at the brink of total annihilation, because science is progress, and progress is necessary. She uses it as a distraction from the anguish that wants to consume her, tunnel vision stepping in like second nature to block out the resounding noise in her head.

Unfortunately, this only eases her conscious mind. Sleep does not provide the same comfort anymore.

Dreams were often precious things, but since the Death Stranding, they've been washed away with the tide, left to melt into the sand and tar. They're replaced with afterimages of what they once were. A mockery of shadow puppets, with strings pulled taut by unseen hands, movements jarring and unsettling.

The dreams start off vague, muddled, mostly shapes and colors and garbled sound. Scenes appear broken, out of place, starting and stopping so abruptly it's difficult to remember anything about them come morning. Throughout it all persists this strange mixture of dread and familiarity, leaving an awful twist in her gut.

Several nights pass of this unnerving confusion until a prominent scene develops from the disorder.

Morana finds herself standing at the edge of a tall cliff, jagged outcroppings like claws erupting from the rock block any path back down. Harsh wind whips around her, dark hair a wild mess. She clutches her bare arms in a poor attempt for warmth, clad only in her flimsy night clothes. Below is a dark, choppy ocean, nearly endless in its expanse to the horizon. The rest of the space is filled with a thick fog. Everything appears in grayscale except for her, the warm undertone to her pale skin contrasting heavily with the bleak environment.

For a moment she thinks this is her Beach, her personal connection to the Afterlife, yet the dangerous waters thrash directly against the cliffside, no black sandy shoreline in sight. Is this meant to be an in-between point, the liminal within the liminal? An island stuck out in the middle of the Seam, or a disconnection from the Beach itself that leaves her even more stranded?

Something stirs under the waves, drawing her away from her thoughts, and she gingerly steps closer to the edge to peer down. A massive black silhouette skims dangerously close to the surface. At first, it appears no different than a whale. But then she spies two sets of large fins and elongated spines along the body. Even the head is malformed, cone-shaped. It splits apart in thirds, revealing a wicked maw of teeth and tendrils as a rumbling, muffled roar shakes the cliff she stands on. She retreats from the edge immediately.

Morana tries to find some semblance of safety amongst the gnarled structures and crouches down, curling in on herself to calm down. Moments pass and everything becomes quiet -- her heart, her breath, the wind, the water…

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Splashes of tar erupt from the ground in her periphery, closing in on her. Slow, steady, lurking. Fright shoots up her spine and instinct yells at her to run. But where would she go, through the knife-sharp rocks, over the edge into monster-filled waters?

Too busy with failed escape plans, she doesn’t notice that the handprints are headed directly for her. Quicker, heavier. Hunting.

_Thud, thud, **thud-**_

" _No!_ " Morana snaps awake before the next handprint, that horrifying sound echoing in her head. She shivers, but it's not from the cold sweat coating her skin.

Subsequent nights place her back at the cliff's edge in the same desaturated palette. Marine-life warped and mutated by the Beach linger beneath the rolling waves, their thunderous cries rattling the loose rocks. Each dream brings the handprints closer to her crouched form, faster in their pace to reach her. She always wakes up before it catches her.

\---

A week later, she almost feels used to the scenery, despite the obvious lack of comfort and security. Then again, her own home had felt no different with _him_.

She anticipates the next dream to be the same as before, subconsciously prepared for the terror she always experiences. Again, she is brought to the tall cliff, overlooking the wild, dark ocean encapsulated by opaque fog. The wind howls viciously, a chill creeping into her bones. Her bare feet take her to the ledge involuntarily, toes just barely hanging over and gripping tightly. Her gaze fixates on the tumultuous waters lashing about, begging for her to lean forward just a little more.

She considers it.

Time passes and it’s difficult to tell for how long, but there’s something… off. There is no monstrous silhouette emerging from the abyss, no reverberating roar. The waves are devoid of creatures as they continue to crash against the steep rock. Carefully, Morana leans over at the waist, muscles tense as she keeps her weight rocking back into her heels. Eyes frantically search the dark ocean, afraid of losing the familiarity.

The repetition felt safe, protected in a bubble, no matter how terrifying it became. Deviating from this established norm sends her into a panic.

Morana rushes backwards away from the edge until her back slams against a jagged boulder. The pain barely resonates, senses numb to anything real in this disconnected, desolate place. Oh, but the _fear_ feels very real. Heart in her throat, blood rushing through her ears, lungs shriveled from panting so hard. She’s dizzy from the shock, she can’t even see straight.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Fuck.

She quickly slaps a hand over her own mouth in a desperate attempt to stay quiet and still. Her gaze stays trained on the roaming black splashes, hoping the entity turns around and leaves, floats itself over the craggy outcroppings. 

It continues its trek towards her, tar staining the rock in its wake.

It’s about two hand-steps away from reaching her and the pressure is just too much to bear. A whimpering yelp escapes her chest, squeaks past her palm. The air shifts around her, getting sucked up suddenly, like a vacuum. The BT is closing in on her, the impending doom of a voidout looming over her. This is it. She’ll get trapped here, on this precipice, isolated from the shore of her Beach, miles above the Seam that would at least grant her some mercy.

Morana glances to the cliff’s edge. She's beyond considering it now. She _runs_.

Bare feet skid and stutter over the rough rock, traction fickle. Handprints pound rapidly behind her, the sound echoing across the space to make it seem louder than normal. Her limbs feel like they’re struggling through molasses, yet she’s determined to not get caught.

One, two, three strides and all she needs to do is leap. Solid ground is replaced with air, left leg extended forward, toes aiming for the thrashing waters. Wind rushes by and she’s weightless. Her stomach flips, her heart drops out of her rib cage, her nerves are on fire while her blood is like ice in her veins. _Just let me fall and I’ll wake up._

Her body lurches and hangs suspended over the ocean.

Shaking, she glances back. There’s an inky hand clutching hard onto her right shin. Tar spreads and pools on the rock. Another hand reaches out and grabs her knee. More sprout up like weeds, one even leaning out over the edge to snag her left ankle. It feels like quicksand, the more she struggles against the grip, the faster the hands pull her down. They drag her back into the black ichor until she loses her balance and tumbles down onto her back. BTs surround her now, their sticky hands grasping onto her flailing limbs and forcing her to sink into the tar.

Somehow she frees her head from their hold, lifting upwards as a way to pry her shoulders out as well. A useless effort that wastes more energy. But she has to do _something_ , she can’t just lay here and get sucked into this viscous mess.

Something bubbles up in the space between her caught legs and she stops wrestling. It lifts slowly through the tar pool, head first. The other BTs remain close to keep her down but otherwise shift away from the rising mass.

Bright, metallic, shining. A golden BT.

Crystalline hands reach out towards her, angular fingers curled like claws. Unable to move away, half buried in the tar, Morana just stares in horror as the featureless entity moves closer, hovering over her. Hands, cold like death, take hold of her head. There’s no gentle caress, no softness. Just unyielding chiralium caging her in. The BT leans in close and her heart stops. It tilts its head from side to side, dragging on the seconds until her inevitable doom.

Its jaw unhinges, then her vision turns bright white.

She wakes up with the awful feeling of free-falling, yelling and shuddering out heavy breaths as her mind starts to come back to itself. It's blankets tangling around her limbs, not spectral hands pinning her down. She's in a cold sweat, not drenched in tar. There's not an ounce of ozone fluttering in the stale air. And yet the dream felt all too real.

The next morning, she requests some sleep aids to be delivered. She hates how disheartened she feels when it's not Higgs in a porter suit at her bunker door.

\---

For a little while, she stops dreaming, subconscious blocked by the medicine, allowing her to get a full night's rest peacefully devoid of any kind of disturbance. But she's hesitant to make this a consistent thing and worries if her body might develop a reliance on the pills.

One night off from them wouldn't be too bad, would it?

Sleep finds her quickly, mind succumbing to the deeper patterns. A dream forms.

No longer is she placed at the precipice of the cliff, blocked off by mutated monsters and impossible landscapes. She's not even standing, instead strapped down to a chair by synthetic ropes at her wrists and ankles. An overhead light glares down on her, obstructing her vision so she can't see past the small circle it creates. Unfortunately, this halo provides no sense of comfort or ease.

Morana hears the murmur and shuffle of others nearby, but they're all lost from the spots in her eyes, drowned in the darkness that lies immediately beyond her spotlight. She goes to speak, to cry for help and for answers, and she can't open her jaw. Something heavy, like a mask, bars her from any communication, and her breathing spikes.

Soft whispers go silent as someone steps forward, she's still blinded and can only make out a vague blurry shape. Large, imposing. They stand before her, too close for comfort, and her heart jumps to her throat. She squirms in the chair, but the ropes keep her rooted on the spot. The figure studies her for a while, head tilting from side to side in a slow arc. Under the scrutiny, she trembles so hard she rattles the chair.

Cold fingers stretch out and comb through her unruly hair, lifting strands from her eyes and tucking some behind her ear. Despite how undeniably scared she is, a part of her yearns for this gentleness, these tender touches. But her stiffened body doesn't allow her to lean into the idle caress.

Their fingertips trail down along the side of her face, skimming over her cheekbone and across her jawline. They stop at the side of her neck, just underneath the corner of her jaw, then press a digit into her skin. Her carotid artery jumps wildly. The figure pulls its head back a bit, silently expressing shock and intrigue. The hidden spectators around her create a din of hushed voices not unlike the sound of rolling waves.

_They're checking her pulse. They didn't know she was alive. That must mean they're not-_

Her struggling doubles in effort, trying to yank her head away from those probing fingers, back pushed roughly into the chair. Morana pleads incoherently through muffled sounds, tears welling up and falling down her pale cheeks. Her feet press down into the cement floor as an attempt to shove the chair backwards, only to find it's bolted to the ground. She's trapped, fucking _trapped_.

Suddenly, she stops. Still and solid as a statue. Time comes to a halt. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with her body.

The figure just drove their fingers directly under her sternum, ripping through the skin and tissues like paper.

They worm their way inside, shoving mounds of viscera aside, wrist knocking up against the underside of her rib cage. Dig through her organs so much she feels displaced and rearranged. She shouldn't be able to feel this. The pain is beyond excruciating -- it's gruesome, violating. _Raw_.

Those seeking fingers finally find what they're looking for and grasp it so tightly, the sensation rocks her to the core. A scream works its way out of her misplaced lungs, feels it jostle her insides and rake against her vocal chords. The mask holds her jaw firmly shut, barring the sound from leaving her mouth.

Her heart. Her goddamn heart.

Morana wants to pass out, throw up, and piss herself all at the same time. But she can't, she's being forced to endure this obscene and violent torture while others idly stand by, like onlookers at the gallows. There's no way out. She shakes her head violently at the figure, her eyes wide and bloodshot and glassy.

The figure's fingers curl in and tug hard. Morana lurches forward because of it, making a strangled noise in the back of her throat. They tug again and something loosens and snaps in her chest. Tension flares in all her veins and capillaries. Another rough pull and they rend the arteries from their connection.

She can't blink, she can't breathe, she can't fucking _move_.

The hand withdraws from her chest cavity without remorse, resulting in a sickening _squelch_. It leaves a gaping hole in her torso. A rush of warm blood flows down her front, pools in her lap before spilling over her legs and onto the floor. Her heart appears before her, pulsing steadily as if it were still inside. Aside from the blood dripping off it, it's not a vibrant red, it's not even organic with veins and tissues.

It's made entirely of chiralium.

The figure cups the metallic organ in both hands with such adoration and care, like an offering. They hold it up to the watchers who resume their indistinct chattering, but louder this time, buzzing with excitement.

There's nothing left of her, unable to do more than just watch this perverse act of worship.

They bring it back down, leveling it with their head. Featureless as they were, she could sense they were looking directly at her ruined form. With what expression, she couldn't possibly decipher, but in this moment, she truly did not want to know.

Those destructive hands, cradling her heart so dearly, readjust their grip until the organ is situated between their palms. With little effort, they squeeze their hands together until they crush her heart completely, shattering it into pieces in front of her.

Morana bolts upright in bed, hands frantically patting and moving along the sheets to gather the broken shards. It takes her a full five minutes to realize her heart is inside her chest, unharmed. A part of her still thinks she's only alive in a dream the following day.

She goes back on the sleeping pills immediately.

\---

Nearly a month has passed by. The pills have been working as intended. A blessing because they've stopped anymore unwarranted nightmares from cropping up and disrupting her precious sleep.

A curse because it's made this _thing_ that's gotten hold of her mind livid.

Morana can't put her finger on it, but she just _knows_ something has clawed its way into her brain, well past the rational parts, and rooted into the dark recesses that bloom and flourish when she's unconscious. But with the pills in her system, she's unable to see those thoughts through, effectively blocking off whatever that thing is.

It's like some unwanted house guest that doesn't want to leave. Or a parasite. All she knows is that it's fucking _pissed_ and has started to lash out at her.

It begins with some migraines. Bothersome, persistent, and they take too much ibuprofen to quell. The migraines impede her research work, so much so that she has a small backlog of articles to parse through. Sometimes they are so intense, she becomes nauseous and lightheaded, forcing her to lie down in complete darkness for a few hours.

Then, no matter how much Morana rests or sleeps, she exists in this constant state of perpetual exhaustion. She's gone through a lot of coffee and energy drinks just to stay focused; she knows her pancreas is working overtime. Prominent dark circles surround her eyes. She's yawning so often her jaw feels like it could break off at any moment. Even after sleeping for fourteen hours straight one night, she still struggled to pull herself from the fugue.

On top of that, she's been getting more and more forgetful as the days progress. Items go missing for a while before appearing in places she would have never even considered (her toothbrush ends up in her silverware drawer, and she almost ate off a tablet thinking it was a plate). She writes and rewrites whole sections of her project drafts that she could have sworn she typed out the night before. Her memory is becoming a jumbled mess, unable to recall the plot to her favorite movie while watching it, or if she even ate at all during the day.

Over-caffeinated, under-slept, and scatterbrained with a migraine pounding to beat the band. What an awful combination.

And just when she thinks it couldn't get any worse…

The moment her eyelids flick open, an icy rush of dread spreads into her nerves. Her wide eyes dart around to take in the innocuous scene of her bunker. But that's all she can physically control. Her arms and legs feel tied down by invisible bonds. There's a heavy weight settling on her chest that gradually pushes the air from her lungs, tests the limits of that fragile cage protecting all her vitals. Her jaw is extremely tight and forces her to breathe quickly through her nose. The pressure building in her gums from her teeth smashing against each other is unbearable. There's a distant ring in her ears.

Her mind, caught between dream and reality: sleep paralysis.

Morana hasn't experienced it before, doesn't have a medical history of it either, but she knows exactly what it is. But all that awareness and knowledge isn't helping her now, not when she's frozen in place by pure panic.

She tries to ease herself by taking account of her senses beyond touch. Sight works fine, however still adjusting to the darkness which leaves fuzzy outlines and vague shapes. She focuses past the ringing and hears the droning hum of her bunker's generator, louder now in the dead of night than while she's up and about during the day. With her jaw locked up, all she can taste is her own mouth, but at least her tongue is somewhat mobile in its ivory cage. And she can still smell, even if it's the salty hint of sweat.

Good. Progress. A start to bring herself out of this miserable immobile state and into full consciousness.

Something shifts ever so slightly in the corner of her eye.

Instinctively she moves her head towards it, but the action is useless and only serves to twinge the stiff muscles of her neck. She grunts, the sound stifled, and strains against herself to take another glance in that direction. She waits for ages, but nothing happens.

Morana returns her attention to her predicament. Uncomfortable is too kind of a word to describe it. Overwhelming is closer, but still not quite right. Confining, most likely, for lack of any better term. But she can breathe and blink, two basic and involuntary functions that can maybe help her break free from these mental chains holding her down.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink twice. Repeat.

Keep breathing, slow it down. Move the eyes up, then down. Left and-

Something skitters behind her desk. It moved too quick for her to see any discernible shape, but it was at least human in size, possibly bigger. She hopes not.

Alarm bubbles up from her chest again and her breathing becomes shorter, erratic. Her eyes stay fixated on the spot, unblinking. They burn with dryness, tears glistening the edges of her vision. But she can only stare for so long until her lids twitch then shut fully, forcing thin tears to roll down her cheeks. Without hands to wipe them away, she's left in momentary blindness, squeezing her eyes tight to force the water out.

That's when she hears it. Shuffling, scurrying. It's moving, finding a new hiding spot.

When she reopens her eyes, she wildly looks around the seemingly empty bunker, from her desk to her couch to the edge of the kitchen and back again. Nothing. Just darkness and silence.

But now she can no longer focus on calming down, not when she knows that _thing_ is lurking around freely while she's held hostage in her own damn bed. The same _thing_ that's been plaguing her head with migraines, exhaustion, and fugue for weeks.

It's outside of her mind and in the real world.

This feels like some awful game of hide and seek, and she's even starting to get frustrated outside of being scared for her life. Her muscles are on fire from how rigid she’s been the entire time, practically shaking with exertion. She knows she's sweating into the sheets and she can't move to alleviate the sticky heat. It's absolutely miserable and downright painful. All she wants is some relief. All she wants is to wake up.

_Slam!_

Morana jolts hard but goes nowhere, resulting in a fiery sting spreading through her nerves. Her heart pounds out of her constricted chest as she searches for the source of the loud sound. She finds it, on the floor, highlighted by the dim blue glow from her computer. A book, plucked from its rightful place in her massive bookshelf.

It couldn't have fallen by itself. Her shelves are lined to the brim, packed so close a piece of paper couldn't fit between them. But there it is, on the ground, split open.

So focused on the book, she barely catches movement in her peripheral. Slinking slow and low, like a predator.

The shadow just slipped under her bed.

She cannot begin to describe the absolute fear instilled within her. It's like she senses more and less at the same time. Hearing is more acute, her sight hyperfixed, yet her body doesn't even feel the weight of the blanket, the dampness in her sheets. Her breathing, as quick as it is, grows quieter as she waits in petrified silence.

No more can Morana use what little control she has of her body to break through the paralysis. Everything shrinks down to the singular fact that there is something, some shadow or monster, that has made a home beneath the mattress. That last remaining fragment of clarity screams at her from the recesses of her mind, though she is deaf to its cries. _None of this is real! Wake up! You have to, you must-_

Five overextended, clawed digits uncurl from a large palm at the end of the bed. A skinny forearm appears as it reaches outward. The moment the hand touches the sheets, black begins to leak and spread, _fast_. She's no longer held captive underneath comfortable sheets. The tar grips onto her like it was the thing holding her down the entire time, finally visible. She's engulfed, only her head sticks out from the ichor. Her flesh is drained of color, veins protruding on her forehead from the strain, eyes bloodshot and teary.

Another hand and arm follow suit. Then a head and torso. It's a fucking BT. It lingers there at the edge of the bed, palms sinking into the overflowing tar. Hissing and gurgling, it observes her trapped state.

A scream gets lodged in her throat. _This is it. This is how I die._

It crawls up until it hovers over her, too close for comfort. Those hands skim over her arms, the action hidden under the viscous surface. Its touch, so cold compared to the tar. Not like winter, but death.

The BT looms over until its face is in full view of her limited sight. That's when she sees it, reflecting the muted glow of blue lighting.

A golden skeleton mask covering the bottom half of its face.

Shock drives a spike through her heart. Somehow, it's the exact thing she needs to push past the immobility. A kickstart that sputters her brain back to its senses. Her lips barely part, jaw muscles easing partially to work her mouth into speech, tongue rolling behind aching teeth. Despite the agonizing movement, she endures it long enough to produce a single word.

"... _Higgs_?"

She wakes with such a start, she chokes on the sharp intake of breath. A headache pounds prominently in her skull, rockets pain behind her eye sockets and in her mandibular joints. Each motion feels like she's fighting against a violent current. Her heart beats out of her chest, her stomach does flips. She's shaking uncontrollably. Every synapse is firing at once.

She may be alive but she has never felt closer to death.

\---

Morana refuses to sleep after the incident.

She takes short naps throughout her day, not allowing herself to push past an hour at most for fear of deep sleep. It isn’t the most ideal situation; it adds another tally to her list of bad decisions. Yet she feels a little more at ease (albeit that could be the exhaustion) and has a placebo of control, something she unfortunately lacked beforehand.

She manages enough throughout the following week that Heartman doesn’t question it -- probably because he only ever sleeps when he’s dead.

Her bed is no longer a sanctuary, more like a crypt buried under layers of stone and dirt, walls filled to the brim with human remains. She has no closet to store her skeletons, just the ominous, empty space under the mattress. She'd even go so far as to say the bed is stuffed with piles of bones, not synthetic cushions.

It's on day eight that she starts perceiving things that aren't really there. It would have happened sooner if she had foregone sleep entirely, though the naps kept them at bay, even just marginally. Her last line of defense, broken.

Morana had done her best to stay on track, using nearly all of her awake time to read and write and compile data. Anything to offer a mental distraction. It's not enough, unfortunately. In the middle of typing a report, she hears faint whispers in the background beyond the noise of her music. She denies it at first, thinks of it only as the speaker going on the fritz. But all too soon, the whispers sneak up, right into her ears.

" _You need me_."

" _I'm still here_."

" _Don't ignore me_."

" _ **Sweetheart**_."

The pet name, that _fucking_ endearment. Syllables laid out in a sing-song tone, drawl rolling over the vowels and dragging them out. It's so startling to hear, she jumps right out of her chair and knocks it over, tripping and barely catching herself on her desk. Books and papers scatter, pens tumble to the floor.

Her heart is racing, but less out of fear, more for hope. It's been months since she'd seen him. She hadn't even realized the inexplicable _ache_ that had settled into her chest from his absence.

She's been without real physical connection for so long and Higgs had been the only source of it, with his twisted sense of companionship. Chiralgrams are one thing, but being in the same space as another being offers more to the psyche than ever anticipated. She became heavily reliant on him to provide her the social stimulation she craved. And, _oh_ , he gave it to her in surplus.

It was all gone, in a gunshot.

Her head has fallen victim to this unfathomable lack in basic human connection. She doesn't want to listen to the voices, shouldn't heed their call. But what else can she do when she's been so deprived of everything she had?

Before she even knows it, Morana crumbles to the floor, knees drawn up, back bracing against the side of the desk. She sobs openly, digs into that miserable ache in her chest with every wail. Excavates the empty cavern where her heart used to be over and over again. Cries until she has no more tears, no more voice.

Moments pass as she slowly calms down, sniffling and whimpering quietly. Utterly defeated. A shell of the woman she once was.

It's then in the stillness that the whispers emerge once more, though they are no longer coated in static.

"Oh, Morana. Look at you." The voice struggles slightly, wavering with exhaustion. "So pathetic, so broken."

It sounds… _real_. Too real. Almost tangible, like she could pluck them right out of the air.

Dark eyes, swollen from sobbing, blink open and drift around. She anticipates a vacant bunker, her glorified mausoleum. But instead she finds a dark silhouette standing before her. Hunched at the shoulders, unsteady on their feet. She takes a breath, tastes ozone and salt.

Her pulse instantly spikes like a lovesick puppy and she hates herself for it. With effort, she opens her eyes more, angles her head upwards, knowing full well just how hopeful she looks right now.

"I love seeing you like this," the figure continues, now taking slow yet trudging steps towards her, "Shows me how much you really care."

As they ease down into a kneel, they start to lose their balance. Their palm bangs against the desk right beside her head to stop themselves, and she doesn't even flinch. She's too wrapped up in the sight of a blood- and tar-covered Higgs directly in front of her.

"H-how… how did you-" Morana strains her hoarse voice as she sits up a little bit. Instinctively, she reaches a hand up to swipe her thumb over his grimy cheek. He looks like he's been through hell and back. Probably worse. "They said you were dead."

"Funny thing about that: you can't kill a _god_." Even after all he's been through, he's still as arrogant as ever. She wants to roll her eyes, but she knows he's deadly serious.

"How did you get here?" she croaks out, brows knitting together. "Why aren't you still on the Beach?" 

A lopsided smile forms as Higgs chuckles softly. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, far too tender to mean anything. Then, he mutters against her skin, "I had a good connection."

Oh. _Oh_.

She was the bridge between the world of the dead and the world of the living. While asleep, he could manipulate her mind, form any thought to wedge himself in. The dreams. The nightmare. Ways to knock down her unconscious defenses until they bled into reality. Until they turned into paralysis, where she resided in the veil that separates mental from physical. The hallucinations were the final push he needed to get through.

"You remember what I told you before I left?" His question shakes her out of her thoughts. It takes her a second to realize what he's referring to then she nods, eyes full of understanding.

_Just because I'm gone doesn't mean that's the end of our agreement._

"But without Amelie, without the Stranding, why do you still need my research?"

There's a knowing flicker in his eyes that makes her stomach knot up. With some struggle, he stands over her, head tilting to the side with his arms outstretched. "There's always an EE and there's always a Stranding."

Thunder booms for the first time in months outside her bunker. It jostles her to the core. His smile prideful, gaze edging closer to manic. She cowers against the desk but she cannot look away from him, so commanding in his presence.

"And sometimes, you gotta take matters into your own _hands_."

Morana watches in horror as tar pours from his wrists to encase his hands, fingers lengthening, spindly and sharp. Black tears tumble from kohl-lined eyes. None of the ichor drips off his hands -- it hardens into chiralium, jagged and gleaming.

It appears that being stuck at Amelie's Beach was beneficial after all.

(She wishes this was all a dream.)

He extends a clawed digit, drags it down her tear-stained cheek to settle the pointed end under her chin. Pushes it upwards until it just barely breaches soft skin. "But who can be a god without _loyal_ followers? And you'd follow me to the ends of the earth and back, wouldn't you, _sweetheart_?"

Air escapes her lungs, her mouth moves without her will. Her voice sounds foreign in her ears. "Yes, Higgs."

" _Perfect_." Both crystalline hands grab onto her shoulders and haul her off the floor. Keeps her close, pressure unyielding. His smile reaches his eyes and he looks unhinged -- _beautiful_. "Let's get started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I've never had sleep paralysis before and my knowledge of it only comes from things I've read on medical websites and video games. So I understand that my depiction of it may be a little skewed toward the latter.
> 
> You can find me [here!](https://jaguarbird.tumblr.com/)


	4. i've been feeling self-destructive but i love it (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain reminded her that she was alive, that she was _real_. And Higgs loves to remind Morana of her mortality any chance he can get.
> 
> Chapter title song: [Dizzy by MISSIO](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCaxIMypPck&ab_channel=MISSIOVEVO)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow hello hi it's been a minute. This year has been wack, but I know I'm just preaching to the choir at this point. Luckily I'm back on my bullshit. :^)
> 
> I've added more tags for this one, since it's a bit of a doozy.

None of this is normal. It's a fact Morana has conceded to a while ago.

These private moments shared only between her and Higgs feel almost intangible like a daydream, but one that she has lost all control of. A waking nightmare, perhaps, though she has yet to pull herself from it. The will is there, she knows it is, chained down in the corners of her mind. But the want?

Well, she wants to _stay_.

She'd already challenged that months ago and look where it got her? Crawling back to Higgs like a moth to a flame. There was no use in fighting it, fighting _him_ , all energy wasted and outmatched. She had accepted her fate with as much dignity as she could muster. A pathetic amount, truthfully, but at least she still had it then.

Now, all she is left with is reflection. The multitudes of paths she could have taken to avoid this outcome. The choices she had before it was too late.

Yet, Morana would follow her own footsteps all over again just to get to here. It's sickening, terrifying. _Exhilarating_. Deep down, she knows this is exactly what she wanted from the beginning.

And who better to reignite those conflicting sensations than the source of it all?

"I knew you would come around to the idea," Higgs says without needing a response from her. He manipulates the black synthetic rope around her body, the coarse texture already making her skin itch. She's not even allowed the comfort of sitting or lying down, forced to stand and endure. Another loop around her chest tightens the ever-present coil.

A few weeks back, while he was successfully drawing her attention away from work with wandering hands and eager teeth, he had remarked how her body reacted to his roughness. It was said in passing, as if his inner voice had slipped up and projected out.

He had emphasized his point with a particularly hard bite in the crux of her neck, teeth digging in enough to break skin. The blood that lifted from the wound had no opportunity to escape the instant sweep of his tongue. Flat at first until the initial rush wore off, then he stiffened the muscle and pushed the pointed end into the marks, making it bleed and sting all over again. Morana squirmed against him, breath caught around a whine. Though instead of moving away, she pressed closer, white-knuckling her desk so hard she swore she heard wood splitting.

The pain reminded her that she was alive, that she was _real_. And Higgs loves to remind Morana of her mortality any chance he can get.

A lengthy silence stretches between them as Higgs concentrates on the rope. She allows her eyes to wander, if only to stare at him from the corners lest he call her out on ogling. He's as undressed as she's ever seen him, and still wearing clothes. The bulk of his gear is gone, including the BB pod and odradek, and he's removed his cloak and gloves as well. The sleeves of his army-green undershirt are bunched up around his elbows. It's the most skin he has ever bared around her. Something about this display of -- vulnerability? Mutual understanding? _Trust_? -- toys with Morana's warped sense of emotions, though she holds her tongue on making such a comment.

She knows if she slights him in any way, makes him feel _weak_ , their entire arrangement could come crashing down. And she can't risk it, not when it means getting to see the human behind the mask.

The incessant pressure of a knot being tied at her back draws her attention and she fights the urge to squirm away from it. A consecutive coil around both of her wrists locks her arms in place, bent at the elbow and situated mid-back.

The design of the chest harness is simple, but effective. Two triple-bands of rope above and below her breasts that encapsulate her upper arms, pinning them to her sides. Leftover strands crest over one shoulder to cinch under the bottom band between her breasts, twisting around itself before dipping back over the opposite shoulder. A network of interlocking strands and knots make up the back portion, something she could only feel. All she knows is that it's tight and secure, immobilizing her upper limbs completely.

A bare finger tucks under the bulk of the rope, tests its limits. Morana sways easily from the tug and catches herself with a half-step to the side. A pleased lopsided grin lifts the corner of his mouth. She pointedly doesn't look at him. Higgs pulls on the harness again, this time dragging her, and she nearly topples into him. A shocked little sound escapes her lungs, though she follows along until he stops her in front of the bed. 

"Up," he directs her with a firm tap to her rear, hearing the faint, irritated huff that escapes her. "Sit against the headboard." 

Without the aid of her arms, she has to be more mindful of her balance as she traverses the mattress. At one point, she misplaces a knee in her crawl, bending at the waist to compensate for the shift in weight to avoid falling face-first into the bed. Thankfully, Higgs had the foresight to remove all the bedding before he started binding her, one less obstacle in the way.

Then again, that wasn't the sole reason for the missing sheets and pillows.

Carefully, Morana eases herself down, half-twisting to land on one hip before rocking back to seat herself flush against the padded board. As if her arms weren't trapped enough, the added pressure of her own body reclining punctuates the point sharply. She keeps her legs together out of habit, outstretched and crossed, despite the fact he's seen her completely bare more times than she can count. Soon, he joins her on the bed with more rope, one hand reaching out to wedge between her overlapped legs. He lifts the top one, guiding it to bend before opening outward. She's smart enough to do the same with the other, unprompted.

Dual bands of black begin to encircle her bent right leg, arcing around the top of her thigh and the front of her shin, the lower band nearly reaching her ankle. Higgs makes them a little tighter than necessary, though still not enough to raise concerns about circulation. He turns her leg inwards at a rather awkward angle, creates a series of knots to tie both sets of rope together. Pleased with their placement and pressure, he moves onto the other leg. Once done, her bound legs are left to drop open.

The longer she sits here, knots pressing into her back and ribs constricting from the position, the more she feels a soreness, an ache, blooming in her joints and her nerves. Unpleasant and strange, a consistent throbbing sensation that matches the quickened pace of her heart. While she waits, Morana wiggles her fingers and toes, tests their responsiveness, and is surprised to find she's still got feeling. She wouldn't put it above Higgs to bind her up so roughly that she'd end up in a slow death from blood pooling. But she reminds herself once more that she's still here, body _and_ mind, even if such a notion seems unnervingly foreign to her.

Maybe that's why she was so keen on agreeing to this. To remind herself of what it feels like to be human, attached to this physical body. Not just a drifting, directionless entity recalling phantom pains from a different life.

" _Sweetheart_ ," he singsongs, drawl chiding in tone. He knows she's retreated into her head again, left alone to ruminate on questions she never wants to answer out loud. Morana focuses her eyes on him seated before her on his knees with his weight resting back on his heels. His expression can only be described as giddy, _ecstatic_ , like he's just received the best gift ever -- such symbolism isn't lost on her. Higgs moves in, looming, places both hands on her cheeks, thumbs skimming over her cheekbones, precariously close to her eyes. She's conditioned by now to know that when he does this, he wants her full attention, to be the only thing she sees in her vision.

"You trust me." He doesn't even ask, doesn't have to. Just reaffirming a fact that has been driven home time and again. His hold on her face restricts her movements, forces her to verbally respond.

Morana swallows, tries to take a deep breath but the ropes dig further into her skin. Parted lips stretch only briefly into a grimace. "I do."

His face shifts then, reining in all that excitement, tempers it under a practiced, passive facade. _There's_ that smile she's come to know all too well. Lazily placed, but perfectly so, lined with a sharpness no razor can match. Blue eyes still wild, the only crack in the mask. Higgs straightens up, remaining close, the way his hands tenderly cup her face creates more knots, invisible ones in the pit of her gut.

He doesn't regard her with reverence in such an embrace, no. It's pride, garnered from her unquestionable devotion to him. A faithful follower. A mortal crafted by the hands of a god.

And one of those hands lifts away, a shadow of warmth left in its wake, before it comes crashing down in a core-shaking smack.

It's not the first time he's hit her, on her face or her body, but the delivery is different from the last instance. Before, it was meant as a reaction, a reprimand, a product of his uncontrollable anger. Now there is purpose and reason -- as much reason as someone like Higgs could ever have. Then again, she _did_ agree to this.

Morana instinctually checks her teeth, tongue sliding along the dentition to find that nothing's changed. That still doesn't stop the spread of the sting across her cheek, no doubt painting a vivid pink handprint on soft skin. The first mark of many to come. And soon enough, a warmth wells up from within her, clinging low in her gut before creeping out through her veins, branching into a full bloom. Her heart races, blood pounding through her ears. It's a fire that's been snuffed out for too long and she doesn't even feel like herself anymore. A buzzing flurry of energy asking for more, more, _more_ \--

Fuck, she hasn't felt so _alive_ in ages.

Higgs immediately senses the shift, not just in the wild spark of her eyes but in the very air itself. He takes a deep breath, piercing gaze rolling back under his lids as he expels that breath in a soft shudder. The hand still resting on her face slipping down to grasp at the side of her neck, almost as if he were anchoring himself from such an overwhelming sensation.

He doesn't linger long, however, unable to fully slip from his controlling demeanor. His head snaps upright and he pushes her hard against the headboard. He bares a smile with gritted teeth, like he wants to rip her apart right now, piece by piece.

"Feels good, don't it, sweetheart," Higgs murmurs, voice residing deep in his chest. Still caught up in the haze of stimulus, Morana simply nods mutely. He scowls, displeased.

A resounding second smack to the same burning cheek cracks through the bunker.

" _I said_ ," he growls, hand now sliding across to engulf her throat in a harsh squeeze. He doesn't give her any time to adjust after this hit, bullying her into the firm padding with his weight, a knee wedging between her open legs that offers nothing but pressure. Morana squirms out of habit, of instinct, even though she's been rendered immobile by the rope. The deepening of his fingers into her skin stills her instantly. He repeats himself, voice a sharp staccato. "Feels good, don't it, _sweetheart_."

A choked gasp serves as her inhale. "Y-yes."

Despite her verbal answer, Higgs doesn't let up on her neck. Thumb and forefinger tuck right up under the corners of her jaw to dig at the pressure point. A flaring combination of pain and numbness spread upward and Morana can't suppress the tight groan that squeezes out of her throat. He crowds further into her space, locking her in place with barely any room to move, leaning more of his weight into that choking hand. Her vision vignettes around his portrait, expression full of wild curiosity. He intends to push her limits tonight, by any means necessary.

Her lungs spasm from lack of air, throat involuntarily choking and gasping. She tries to kick her legs and thrash her arms, the natural fight-or-flight sparking within her nerves, but the ropes hold steadfast, pushing further into her flesh. There's a glassiness to her hazel eyes, empty stare searching for the remnants of Higgs' face in the blurring shapes and fading colors. Morana works her mouth to say his name, but can only expel a breath in the first letter.

Black creeps in like tar.

A moment later, the pressure is gone and she finds herself straining to take in as much air as possible.

Nearly toppling over from exertion, he keeps her upright with both hands to her shoulders. The harness stops her ribs from expanding fully, diaphragm stuck in a limited range, so it takes her longer to even out her breathing.

Not that he gives her much choice in the matter. He quickly dives in to cover her mouth with his own, determined to suffocate her further. It's a messy kiss, uncoordinated but only from her side, angling her head every which way to get in just one more inhale. His teeth gnash against her lower lip, piercing through to leave a decent mark that rapidly swells with blood. He spreads the metallic tang eagerly, lining his teeth, her palate, their tongues in a thin wash of red. 

Higgs retreats from her, hands still clasped onto the balls of her shoulders, arms outstretched as his gaze rolls over her. She's already a sight to behold, pale skin a canvas for his handiwork: circular marks that would turn into purplish bruises spotting the column of her neck; a sizable pink handprint on her cheek beneath a pair of wide, dilated eyes; her lips swollen and glossy and--

She's digging an incisor against the bite, prompting another bout of blood to pool and spill, dripping in a thin line down her chin.

A hand winds into her dark tresses, yanking her up to her knees and off the headboard. Morana yelps, causing her to let go of her lip, freeing another droplet of blood.

"And _what_ do you think you're doing?" He looms above her, forcing her head back even farther. The strain on her hair makes her wince and a loud cry slips out, unbidden. His off-hand lifts to push and pull the pliant flesh of that bottom lip. Another crimson pearl forms but doesn't breach. "Stealing all _my_ fun? You just can't help yourself. Ready to hurt and _ache_ , so fucking greedy to _feel_ something."

With her neck craned at such a harsh angle, Higgs easily leans down to drag the full expanse of his tongue from the bottom of the red trail up to its source. He sucks the abused flesh into his mouth, takes his time with draining as much from the wound as he can, then rears back with a solid _pop_. Morana whimpers beneath him, unshed tears glistening the corners of her eyes.

A string of whispered apologies rush out of her in a breath. He regards her with a hum, sarcastically thoughtful in tone, the uptick of a smirk playing on his tinged mouth.

"No," he finally says before pulling her down to the bed by her hair, "I don't think you are."

Her face contorts in a wordless shout, unable to catch herself in the tumble. She lands heavily in her back, breath briefly knocked out in a wheezing groan. The joints of her arms pound in a dull ache and her hands clench so hard into fists, her nails imprinting crescent moons in her palms. Bound legs tuck themselves in on impact, yet fall open on the rebound. The mattress yields a bit more than the headboard, but now she's pinned down by her own weight and the ever-present throb humming through her muscles only grows more apparent with each passing moment. Even in the sudden movement of her fall, she could feel the burn of the rope as it imbeds further into reddened flesh.

Morana knows she will feel the roughened texture for days.

The thought doesn't bother her as much as it should.

There's a subtle rustling of fabric that signals her of Higgs' presence before he fills her vision and nestles himself between her spread thighs. He's strategic about it, however, manipulating her hips to curl upward just enough to leave her entirely exposed without the satisfaction of brushing against his clothed lap. A hand settles on her sternum, long fingers sprawled wide as more pressure is added to her ensnared arms, intricate knots gouging shallow craters into her back. He makes a swift flourish with his other hand, followed by the distinct _thunk_ of something jumping into existence.

His knife.

Hooked like a claw, sharpened to a fine edge and deadly point. Blade crafted completely of chiralium. Handle clutched with confidence, held aloft before he twirls it easily between deft fingers, realigning his grip. Higgs tucks the point under her chin, soft skin pierced lightly with just a faint nudge. She feels the warm trickle of blood running a rivulet down her throat before slipping off to the side. The blade digs in a little harder and she gasps, head forced to tilt upwards to look at him fully. A lofty smile eases onto his face, a distinct contrast to the madness sparking behind his glacial stare.

"I think," he continues from before, the hand at her chest drifting slowly away from the center to span across her breast, "you need to learn some manners, sweetheart. You've been getting too... _impatient_ with all that I give you." Each finger passes over the peaked end of her nipple, the gentle sensation startling her enough to twitch. It only serves to dig the blade in further. "'Bout time I put you back in your place."

On cue, he takes that hardened nub between the middle knuckles of his first two fingers and _tugs_. Morana arches upwards with a hiss, body eagerly seeking out his touch, but she's met with a repercussion -- the blade slips and _drags_ a line down to the start of her throat. The cut isn't deep enough to have her bleed out, but the smoothness in which it slices through her skin brings a piercing sting to her nerves. She feels it reignite every time she moves her jaw or tilts her head, adding another thin coat of vermillion to her neck. Turning the blade away, he passes his thumb over the mark, laughing as she squirms uselessly beneath him.

Despite all her grimacing and twitching, she cannot deny the heady pleasure swimming through her synapses. There's this constant din in her mind, a chorus crying out for _moremoremore_ \--

"--more…"

Morana doesn't even realize the word has slipped out in a tumbling cry, voice strained around a whine.

"Oh, _no_ , this won't do at all," he admonishes her, slowly lifting his hands away from her. A pathetic mewl squeaks out of her, bereft of his attention. "And here I thought there'd be _something_ I could punish you with. Redirect that little head of yours with some _conditioning_. But here you are, _again_ , taking everything I offer. Greedy little girl."

Panic stirs her to full attention, knowing that he could just leave her here, bound up and wanting. She's breathless, wiggling awkwardly to try and sit up. "No, please, Higgs--"

"That's alright, sweetheart, I'll give you _more_." A hand to her shoulder shoves her back down forcefully, stopping her pleading. "I wanna see just how much you can _take_."

The blade is back on her skin, drawn across the bottom of her right collarbone, ending just before the ball of her shoulder. There's no muscle here to cushion the edge of the blade that digs just far enough below the surface. Morana fights the urge to jerk away from the unyielding pressure. The cut wells up with blood instantaneously, cascading over the straight edges. Some slips back, a tiny puddle wedged between her shoulder blade and the mattress. The rest seeps into the black fibers of the rope harness.

Higgs dives down without hesitation, tongue laving over the wound. It leaves her panting, ribs straining against the harness, a shuddering moan slipping past parted lips. A hungry growl resides in his throat, bestial and all-consuming. In a moment of transient clarity, Morana can't help but recall how many times she's given herself over to him, just to be devoured. It's a sensation she succumbs to time and again, always ending with her body _singing_ in ecstasy.

Another cut is sliced at the outer edge of her left breast. It's slightly shallower than the first but red still pearls up within the slim line. He shifts over to capture the skin between his lips, teeth worrying at the mark while his tongue probes into the sting. A satisfying gasp escapes her as she pushes more of her flesh into his mouth, earning her a muffled chuckle from Higgs that vibrates through her chest. He withdraws to scour over the same line twice more, thin skin breaking open easily. This time he doesn't use his mouth; the knife switches hands briefly so he can grab her entire breast with a filthy grope, fingers separating the lines of the cut. His fingers become sticky.

Higgs continues to find more places to cut and dig and marr. Each wound never feels the same, varying in depth and length, and not all of them straight lines either. Some curve around the contour of her ribs, others follow the delicate arch of her hips. He places a series of hashes along the middle of her neck, a mockery of a collar crafted purely of her blood. A strange, buzzing warmth begins to wash over her the longer he marks her up. Morana feels numb to everything except the spots where he situates the golden blade, nerves alight with unfamiliar stimulation.

He then dares to test her tolerance further, slashing into the tender skin of her inner thighs. They contract and jump under the torment all on their own. Every time she moves, all of her previous cuts resurrect in a glorious symphony of pain and pleasure. Higgs has to force her legs apart with a hand and a knee just to keep her steady. The knife is poised just above her exposed slit, the deadly point making its presence known on the cushion of her mons. Morana lifts her head suddenly, unfocused and bleary eyes doing their best to hone in on his face. She shakes her head sluggishly, but the feral grin on his bloodstained mouth tells her he won't be stopping.

Sharpness pierces with ease, carving a steady line down, ending just before her clit. Crimson leaks freely from the wound, arching down in twin cascades along her outer lips.

But that's when Morana feels it -- a different drip of fluid.

Higgs sees it immediately. His shuddering sigh makes her _twitch_. Another shining pearl of arousal leaks out of her.

" _Fuck_ , sweetheart." His grip on the knife switches, pointing the blade away from her while his fingers open up her slickened folds. Cold air hits the heat of her sex and she emits a pitiful whine, writhing with no place to go. The cuts reopen without remorse, burning her with hellfire once more. She wants to beg him with a broken cry, but whether to stop or continue she's not sure. A forefinger gently traces the edge of her entrance, the tip breaching for a second, gathering abundant wetness in its wake. 

"That pretty head of yours must be truly _fucked_ to be getting off like this." Higgs' voice is heavily textured, scraping through gravel, even in hushed tones.

He sounds in awe of her body's responsiveness and through her haze she feels a swell of pride bloom in her bound chest. Emboldened, Morana curls her hips upwards, chasing after the digit pressing against her, wordlessly displaying her growing need. But he's too quick for her, retreating back to resting his hands on the very tops of her inner thighs. Another spark of stinging aches races through her muscles.

Higgs leans over her, levels his commanding gaze at her. "No, no. You don't get to have that. _At all_. There's still more I want to do to you."

 _More_?

Morana's thoughts can't keep up with the rush of need coursing through her veins. Too overwhelmed in heightened sensation and too used to having no control over her limbs, she barely registers that she's getting lifted and manhandled until she's lying front down across Higgs' lap, with him now settled at the end of the bed, feet to the floor. Bare, wounded skin sinks against semi-soft fabric and every little movement she makes feels like a bolt of lightning on her fraying nerves. His hands are on her again, fully this time, the knife tossed aside but still within reach. Fingers dig hard into the pliant flesh of her ass while dull nails scratch up the back of her neck to gather a handful of hair in a tight grip. He hauls her up, back forced into a perfect arch, effectively adding more stimulation to all of her cuts. A keening sound lifts easily from her, bordered by a soft hiss as she bares her teeth.

"Start counting." Her only warning.

The impact of his hand to her ass knocks all the air out of her lungs and nearly shoves her off his lap.

Every part of her body _screams_ , even if she can't let the sound out. Morana inhales sharply with a ragged breath, taking in just enough to expel it all in a singular word.

"One."

The next hit lands on the opposite cheek, just as powerful as the first. Her skin sears into the shape of dual handprints, warming with welts almost instantly. Her voice chokes out of her throat, pushing through the roughness.

"T-two."

Three more smacks come in rapid succession, striking randomly across her ass. One of them falls low, to the sensitive patch of skin between the bottom of her cheek and the beginnings of her thigh. She squeals, eyes screwed up tight, wetness framing her lashes.

" _Aah_ \-- three, foh-four, five…"

The brutality of Higgs' hand continues to assault her already reddened flesh, fingers and palm overlapping the raised shadows of previous slaps. She struggles to keep count, mind wearing down to only give attention to the scorching remnants of all her newly acquired marks. It's too much and not enough all at once, rising and falling from one sensation to the next.

On the fifteenth hit, his fingers land directly onto her weeping sex, the tips reaching that swollen nub as well.

Morana lurches and bucks and twists in her bondage, confused whether she should pull away from or lean into him. Twinkling stars burst behind her vision from the agony, though her jaw drops open to let out a pitched whine that causes Higgs to _pulse_ against her stomach. She'd revel in such a reaction if her brain wasn't so fucking muddled with this encompassing excitement. Somehow, the number slips out just at the end of her cry, a floaty quality to her voice.

He repeats the smack on the same spot, but broader, striking all of her at once. Heat spikes in her core abruptly and she almost forgets to speak. "Sih-sixteen."

He does it again. The heat accelerates.

" _Ah-hah_ … seventeen."

And again. Everything feels white-hot.

"Eighteen-- fuck."

And _again_. She feels like she'll combust.

"Nineteen, Higgs _wait_ …!"

And--

The moment his hand strikes her drenched slit and pulsing clit, she falls apart into a violent orgasm, convulsing and quivering against his thighs. He releases her hair to let her head hang down while she rides out the sudden crash and burn of euphoria. Between her shaking groans and wailing cries, a strangled " _Twenty_ " escapes in a rush.

"Excellent," he praises while his fingers slip across her folds, never penetrating, but working her through the aftershocks all the same.

Morana fades in and out of consciousness, nervous system overworked beyond recognition. Consecutive scenes blur together whenever she blinks her glassy, tired eyes. Higgs around her, untying all the rope, working her arms and legs to check for serious damage. The warm spray of the shower flaring the multitudes of wounds all over her skin, a methodical caress of a cloth soothing the sting. Sinking into the plush cushions of the mattress coated in soft sheets. Teeth breaking open the skin of her lip once more, a bruising kiss she half-heartedly returns in her daze.

Come morning, alone as usual, her feet immediately carry her to the mirror.

Ribbed tracks crawl over her chest, arms, and legs. Wine-dark fingerprints dotting the length of her neck. Vivid red lines of all shapes and sizes carve patterns into pale flesh. Possessive hands grasp at her rear, welting in a raised texture.

Morana's mouth lifts into a faint, impish smile as her eyes drink in the sight of her body. Fingertips dance along all her new marks, caressing each cut and bruise and imprint with unashamed reverence.

What a beautifully macabre masterpiece Higgs has created.

And nothing thrills her more than knowing she's still here to experience it all over _again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modeled Morana's rope bondage off [this piece](https://www.artistics.com/sites/default/files/shibari-3-by-christian-houge-okurimono-series.jpg) of shibari (NSFW)
> 
> You can find me [here!](https://jaguarbird.tumblr.com/)


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